


Stay For Awhile

by winnix



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:31:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9904532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winnix/pseuds/winnix
Summary: "Alfred hadn’t meant to get expelled from Harvard. Honestly, he hadn’t meant to get expelled from Yale or Princeton either, but at this point, he had decided his intentions didn’t really matter."Alfred Jones, after getting kicked out of another college, is sent to stay with Prince Arthur and the royal family.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by "Cross My Mind" by Twin Forks
> 
> All Presidents, Prime Ministers, Queens, Princes and Princesses in this are fictional.

Alfred hadn’t meant to get expelled from Harvard. Honestly, he hadn’t meant to get expelled from Yale or Princeton either, but at this point, he had decided his intentions didn’t really matter. What did matter was that this was the third school in two years, and his mother _really_ didn’t want to have to send him to Brown. 

“Your father will be right in.” The secretary pocked her head into the Oval Office, where Alfred had spent the better part of an hour pacing around and stealing M &Ms from the crystal bowl on his father’s desk. He nodded, not wanting to speak through his mouthful of chocolate. He had been ordered to go to the Oval the second his luggage had hit the floor of his bedroom, no doubt to get an earful from one, or both, of his parents. His father had been held up on a conference call with Afghanistan, and his mother was no doubt getting off a plane from New York right now. Alfred knew she hated being pulled away from U.N. meetings, and he was not looking forward to facing her wrath when she returned. 

Abruptly, a door opened and a security service agent marched in, announcing the President’s presence. Alfred hurriedly swallowed. 

“Alfred!” His father sauntered in. “What a surprise!”

“You called me here.” Alfred reminded. 

“Really, did I?” His father, ever the comedian, chuckled to himself. “Right, I did! Can you remind me why I would do such a thing like that, especially when I’m in the middle of one of the most high stakes international treaty agreements of my life?”

“Because I got kicked out of Harvard.” Alfred muttered. 

“Because you got kicked out of Harvard.” The President repeated, giving his son a chilling smile. “Sit.” He motioned to a couch. Alfred settled, watching his dad move to sit behind his desk. He always did that when he was angry at his son. Treated him like a visitor. 

“So, what’s this, the tenth Ivy you’ve gotten kicked out of?” He asked. 

“There are only eight Ivies.” Alfred reminded. 

“And you are determined to get to all of them, I suppose.” His father sighed. “What was it this time?” 

“Administration was unhappy with my conduct regarding the reinstatement of certain members of the football team.”

“You’re on the football team,” his father remarked, “or you were, I suppose.” Alfred shrugged. “And what did your teammates do, that you so detested?”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t read the news, dad.” Alfred snorted. The President simply raised an eyebrow. “Fine,” Alfred exhaled, “they yelled racial slurs at a student and beat the shit out of him.”

“And they were properly punished by the school, I assume.” His father said. Alfred’s shoulders tightened. 

“Please, they were suspended from one game.” Alfred didn’t mean to sound so angry at his father, but it was too late now. “The kid’s in the hospital, dad! I had to do something.”

“You lead a student wide protest that disrupted classes, destroyed dorm rooms and amounted in thousands of dollars worth of property damages.”

“I admit, it got a bit out of hand.” Alfred muttered. 

“Out of hand?” His father demanded. “Al, you can’t always jump in like this and try to be the hero. At Yale, it was over those letters from the Dean.”

“He was using school money for political campaigns.”

“And he was going to lose his job in a timely fashion! It’s the protests, Alfred, that are the problem. Christ, at Princeton you practically got the school set on fire.”

“I didn’t bring those fireworks.”

“No, but that didn’t matter, did it?” His father was standing now. “Three schools you've been expelled from, Alfred, all because you can’t leave situations be.”

“If I don’t step in, who will?” Alfred stood up as well. 

“Someone who isn’t the President’s son!” His father exclaimed. A moment of silence lapsed, and his father sighed, practically collapsing back into his seat. “My son can’t be an anarchist.”

“I’m not an anarchist.” Alfred assured. “Just…passionate.” His father scoffed, but without heat. He simply sounded tired.

“Alfred, do you know why your brother is doing so well at that wildlife preserve in Canada?”

“Because he can talk to polar bears?”

“No,” his father shot him a look. “Because he is level-headed. Responsible.”

“All he does is measure ice density all day, dad.” 

“Alfred, your brother has become one of the youngest leaders of environmental reform in the past few years.” His father reminded.

“Sorry, I'd love to be out there with him, but you know I don’t do well in cold.”  Mattie, only a few years younger than Alfred, had already graduated MIT early and was now up in some northern part of Canada, trying to protect ice caps or something. Alfred loved his brother, he really did, but he couldn't for the life of him understand why he had chosen to go live in the middle of nowhere. 

“That’s not the point, Alfred.” Alfred knew that, before his father even said it. “The point is, I want the same future for you.”

“A future of penguins?” Alfred smirked. His father shook his head. 

“A future of promise.” Before Alfred could respond, the door behind them opened. Alfred’s mother walked in, a strange look on her face. She was angry, but not in the way Alfred expected. It was a sad kind of angry. 

“Hello, dear.” She smiled at her husband. “Hello, Alfred.” 

“Hey, mom.” He hugged her briefly before settling back on the couch, waiting for the stern talking to that was to follow. Surprisingly, his mother settled next to him on the couch, taking his hands in her lap. 

“Well, Harvard, huh?” She asked, not waiting for a response. “Your father and I have been doing some thinking,”

“Already talking to Columbia? UPenn?”

“No,” his mother smiled softly, “Alfred, we’re sending you to England.” For a moment, Alfred thought his mother must be joking. When no punchline came, a sick feeling settled in his stomach. 

“England?” Alfred demanded, standing suddenly. “What, I screwed up so much you two don’t even want me in the same country as you anymore?” 

“Now don’t be silly Alfred.” His mother chastised. “We love you very much, and this isn’t a punishment.” 

“Your mother is right,” his father spoke up, “we’ve been planning a diplomatic visit to England for a while now, and you’ll be staying there after we leave. 

“Staying there? For how long?"

“It’s only for a month.” His mother reassured. 

“A month?” Alfred asked, shocked. “Sorry, but aren’t diplomatic visits usually a bit on the shorter side? Like, say, a few days?” His mother pursed her lips.

“Yes, but this is…different.” 

“Why?” His mother glanced over to his dad, who seemed suddenly very preoccupied with his tie (covered in small eagles, Alfred noted).

“We think it would be healthy for you to spend some time with Arthur.” Alfred’s stomach plummeted to the soles of his feet. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” He collapsed back onto the couch. 

“Now, don’t be so dramatic.” His father chuckled. “Prince Arthur is a fine role model.”

“He’s only four years older than me, dad.” Alfred reminded. England was bad enough, but Arthur? Alfred had met him only once before, at a State dinner last year. He’d come along with the ambassador, bragged about Oxford, shot Alfred a few dirty looks and generally ruined the party. Or at least that’s how Alfred remembered it. 

“I think it’d be a good idea for you to spend some time with someone in a similar position to you, dear.” His mother smiled. “Arthur is accustomed to dealing with the spotlight, and he and his family generously offered to house you in the coming month.”

“So, you’re sending me away to be babysat by a 23 year old.” Alfred rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Great.” 

“Al, really,” his father stood up from his desk, moving to join his family on the couches, “you’ll golf a bit, shake some hands, go to a few benefit dinners and smile. It’ll be painless.” 

“Your father and I will be joining you for the first few days, and then,” another glance over to his dad. His tie became interesting again. For a man who negotiated with dictators, Alfred’s dad really hated confrontation, “the month will be over before you know it.” 

Alfred wanted to protest. He wanted to shout, and put up a fight, and refuse to leave. But he also wanted his parents to stop looking so damn tired. Or, at least stop being the cause of it. 

“Fine,” He muttered after a moment. “One month, that’s all.” His mother beamed at him, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“This will be good for your Alfred!” She squeezed her son affectionately. “You’ll make us so proud.” With that, she mentioned something about a meeting she had to get to, and left the room. Alfred’s dad stood up and gave him a firm shoulder pat. 

“I’ve got a meeting with the joint chiefs in an hour,” he said, moving back behind his desk, “but you’re welcome to stay, if you like.”

“No,” Alfred shrugged, pushing him off the couch and moving towards the door. “I would say I have to unpack, but I guess that doesn’t matter now.” 

“It won’t be so bad, I promise.” His dad gave him a reassuring smile. “England is beautiful this time of year.” 

“Doesn’t it rain all year round?” 

“Yes, well,” his father cleared his throat, “it will still be a nice break for you.” 

“When do we leave?” Alfred asked. 

“In a month.” The President watched his son carefully. “You’ll like it there,” he continued, a bit awkwardly, “and besides, if you ever start to miss home, just make Arthur throw on a Football uniform and tackle him a few times.” Alfred laughed. 

“I’ll make sure to bring my gear.” He gave his dad one last nod, opening the door. 

“Alfred?” His dad stopped him. Alfred looked back towards the desk where his father stood, every inch a leader. “I’m proud of you.” 

For a moment, Alfred felt utterly minuscule under his gaze. Sometimes, it was easier to forget his dad was the most powerful man in the world. But now, surrounded by flags and hardwood, he looked more like a portrait than the man Alfred had known all his life. 

“Thanks.” He murmured, and left the Oval Office. 


	2. Chapter One

It began to sprinkle the second Air Force One landed. Alfred watched the sky churn outside his window and wished desperately for California. Maybe he’d go to Stanford when he got back, he mused. Just to feel the sun again. 

“We’re here, dear.” He heard his mother on the other side of the cabin, jostling his father slightly. He woke up with a snort, immediately righting himself. 

“Of course,” he cleared his throat. “Ready, Alfred?” Alfred stood reluctantly, putting on his suit coat and moving to follow his parents out of the plane. Maria was already near the door, holding up a black umbrella, her sunglasses shielding her eyes, despite the lack of actual sunlight. Usually, secret service members came and went, giving Alfred barely enough time to learn their names. Maria, however, had been on Alfred’s detail since day one. 

“Nice glasses.” He smirked. Maria smiled. 

“Nice shirt.” She motioned to his wrinkled button up. 

“Touché.” He chuckled, moving to stand in front of her. Maria, along with four other secret service members would be staying with him in England. He’d argued against such a large detail, but his father had insisted. 

“Hero is in position.” Maria spoke discretely into her ear piece, communicating with the agents already on the ground. Alfred grinned. He’d always loved his codename. 

Raindrops splattered on Alfred’s glasses when he stepped outside the plane. His father and mother moved down the stairs in front of him, waving at the crowd below, composed entirely of reporters, save for the small cluster in front of the black metal barrier. The royal family. Alfred felt his shoulders tense. Princess Rose was easy to spot, the picture of grace in her navy jacket. Her father stood behind her, proud in his uniform, holding a black umbrella. It took Alfred a few seconds, but it wasn’t long before he spotted Arthur, standing under an identical black umbrella. He was dressed like a Prince, Alfred reasoned, noting the suit under his raincoat. For a moment, he became extremely self-conscious of his wrinkled shirt. 

Arthur was exactly as Alfred remembered. About a head shorter than him, thick eyebrows, and pale as hell. He wore a pinched expression, as if he would rather be anywhere else. Alfred could relate. 

On the ground, his father was already making nice. Alfred put on his best dashing smile and tried to ignore the pit settling in his stomach. 

“Prince Henry, it’s a pleasure as always.” His father shook the Prince’s hand with vigor. Alfred followed, trying to keep his grip firm. His mother, beside him, embraced Rose, who he introduced himself to next. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Princess Rose.” He shook her hand. 

“Mr. Jones, happy to have you as prisoner.” She grinned, offering a small wink. “Kidding, of course.”

“Right,” his smile faltered slightly, “and please, call me Alfred.” She grinned at this, walking with her father and Alfred’s parents back to the black town car waiting for them. This left Alfred staring at a rather stoic looking Arthur. He stuck out his hand. 

“Prince Arthur,” Alfred hoped his smile held. “Nice to see you again.” Arthur took his hand, and for a moment, didn’t say anything. Alfred wondered if there was still time to sprint back onto the plane. Finally, Arthur nodded. 

“Alfred Jones,” he pressed his lips together in what Alfred supposed was a smile. “Welcome to England.” 

The car ride was the worst part. While his father and the Prince chatted amicably, Alfred sat beside Arthur wishing he could crawl out of his own skin. 

“So, I hear you’re attending Harvard.” Arthur said. 

“Just got kicked out, actually.” Alfred responded. 

“Oh.” And the conversation died. The ride to Clarence House wasn’t that long, but to Alfred, it felt like centuries. Arthur would open his mouth every so often to speak, and then abruptly shut it again. His father mentioned something about golf and the Prince laughed. Alfred wondered how slowly the next few weeks would tick by. 

Arthur didn't speak again until they were out of the car and back into the rain. 

“This is Clarence House.” He shouted over the increasing din of the storm. Alfred nodded. 

“I know.” 

“Oh.” Arthur’s expression pinched up again. Before Alfred could say anything more, he was being brought inside, into the museum-like entrance hall. Portraits of men in fur stared down at him. Alfred felt instantly claustrophobic.

“Right this way, sir.” And he was being ushered away again, which seemed to be the theme of the day. Upstairs, down another, equally grand hallway and he was being shown into a bedroom. Before he could so much as ask for the WiFi password, the door shut behind him and he was alone. 

His room was green. Very green, and very frilly. Alfred examined his dresser, complete with a set of decorative tea pots on top of it. There was an on suite bathroom with a plethora of shaped soaps in a dish. A desk, with an actual quill on it. The whole thing felt like a bad dream, but Alfred knew it wasn’t, because his dreams were never this intricately decorated. When he finally settled onto the canopied bed, he pulled out his phone. 

“I think I’m in hell.” He said once the ringing on the other end stopped. 

“Glad you made it there ok.” His brother responded on the other end. Alfred shucked off his dress shoes, glad to spot his luggage in the corner of the room. 

“Seriously, dude,” Alfred walked to the bed, pushing past the massive drapes, “there are curtains on _everything_.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Mattie assured, chuckling quietly. “Besides, you’re only there for a few weeks.”

“Yeah, they’re about to be the longest weeks of my life.” Alfred lamented.

“You’re being dramatic.” Mattie chastised. 

“Shut up.” Alfred shot back. “You’re not the one who has to spend the next month with Prince Stick-Up-His-Ass.”

“Something tells me that’s not his real title.”

“Yeah, well, it should be.” Alfred assured. “God, Mattie, there are little flowers everywhere.”

“It can’t be any worse than the White House.” Mattie laughed.

“I like the way the White House is decorated!” Alfred defended. 

“There are little eagles everywhere.” 

“I like the little eagles.” Alfred huffed. With that, a knock sounded at his door. After mumbling a goodbye to his brother, he answered it. Arthur stood on the other side, raising an eyebrow at Alfred’s rumpled appearance. 

“As I’m sure you’re aware, there’s a State dinner tonight,” Arthur began. 

“I’m aware.” Alfred knew he was pushing it, but he was tired and Arthur’s perfect suit was really pissing him off. 

“I trust you’ll be able to dress yourself properly.” Arthur smirked, apparently finding his own comment amusing. Alfred sneered. 

“Yeah, I’ll manage.” He responded curtly. Arthur left with a nod. Alfred slammed the door. He was being immature, he knew that, but something about Arthur just drove him insane. Another knock at his door. He tugged it open, expecting to see Arthur’s arrogant face. Maria raised an eyebrow at him on the other side. Arthur grimaced. She must have heard the whole thing. 

“The car to the dinner will arrive at six.” She reminded. 

“Right, thanks.” Alfred rubbed the back of his neck, a bit embarrassed. Maria glanced into his room. 

“Lots of curtains.” She nodded. 

“That’s what I said!” Alfred exclaimed. She chuckled. 

“I’ll be outside if you need anything.” Alfred nodded, closing the door much gentler this time. What he needed was to sleep. He checked his phone. He had at least a few hours before the party, and only one of those would be needed for getting ready, if he was going to avoid any more of Arthur’s snarky comments. Settling onto his curtained bed, he closed his eyes, grateful for a few moments of peace. 

Unsurprisingly, Arthur and Alfred rode in the same car to Buckingham Palace that evening. The ride passed in an uncomfortable silence. Alfred couldn’t help but recall the first state dinner where he and Arthur had met. Arthur told him he was attending Oxford, which Alfred had made the mistake of then calling the “Princeton of England.” Arthur had stiffened instantly. 

“Princeton is the Oxford of America.” He’d said haughtily. “We were founded before your country even existed.”

Alfred hadn’t meant to turn that comment into a nation versus nation argument, but that’s what it dissolved into. Before desert even came they were practically shouting at each other about which country’s football was the best one. 

Lost in thought, Alfred was startled when the door opened beside him.

“We’re here.” Maria greeted him, sunglasses on, despite the still consistent lack of sun. The rain, thankfully, had briefly let up, giving way to a gloomy night sky. Alfred exited the car, trying not to gawk at the Palace in front of him. It was beautiful, he decided after a moment, but too overstated. Nothing compared to the White House. 

“How was the ride over?” His father asked, coming up to stand beside him. 

“Long.” Alfred muttered. Once inside, Alfred was a bit surprised to see the Queen, already standing beside her son, Prince Henry. 

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. President.” She smiled at his parents. “Mr. Jones.” Alfred swore he saw the Queen raise an eyebrow at him. In an instant, he wondered if Arthur had been shit talking him to the literal Queen of England. He gulped and attempted a hasty bow. His parents moved to stand with the Queen, while the Prince joined him in the procession. 

“I do hope you find the dinner to your satisfaction,” the Prince grinned. “We’ve had a fine steak prepared.”

“I was hoping you’d just gone to McDonald’s.” Alfred sighed. The Prince glanced at him startled. “Kidding.” Alfred grinned. Surprise after surprise kept coming, because the Prince actually laughed. 

“You are quite charming, Mr. Jones.” The Prince chuckled. Alfred wasn’t sure how to respond. He was sure some members of the Prince’s family would easily disagree. “I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay in England.”

“I’m sure I will, thank you for your hospitality.” He said, wondering how much of the Prince’s welcoming spirit was genuine. 

“It will be good for Arthur,” Prince Henry smiled. “I believe you two have met before, correct?”

“Yes,” Alfred nodded, “briefly, at a State dinner.” 

“Strange,” the Prince shook his head. “Arthur barely mentions it.” This didn’t surprise Alfred at all. If he and Arthur had one thing in common, it might be trying to forget their first meeting ever happened. 

Upon entering the ballroom, things happened rather quickly. While his parents paused with the Queen for pictures, he was lead down one of the two massive tables that occupied the room. The tables, already full of people who all turned to look at him as he passed, lead up to one, grander table where he was sure his parents would be seated. His suspicion was confirmed when he was seated right at the end of it, next to Arthur, who already seemed to have decided he was ignoring him for the night. _Lucky me_ , Alfred mused to himself, reluctantly taking his seat, only to be brought to his feet once again when the Queen began to approach the table. The meal got under way not too long after. Alfred’s parents, at the center of the table, chatted away, ignorant to his current suffering. 

He got through two entire courses before the awkward silence with Arthur became unbearable. Alfred was a social creature, and with Rose and Prince Henry seated on the opposite side of the table, that left no one but Arthur to converse with. 

“So,” Alfred began as their dinner plates were being cleared out, “are you all finished at Oxford?”

“Yes.” Arthur responded, his discomfort evident. Another moment of stilted silence passed. “When will you be returning to Harvard?”

“I won’t.” Alfred tried to keep his voice loose, but he couldn’t help some contempt from creeping in. Of course Arthur would ask about Harvard, the last thing in the world Alfred wanted to discuss. 

“Why is that?”

“Kicked out means they’re not letting me back in.” Arthur raised an eyebrow at this.

“Your father can’t simply pull a few strings?”

“I don’t want him too,” Alfred shot back. “Besides, the school did something I didn’t like. I don’t want to go back.”

“What on earth could the school have done to keep you away?” Arthur chuckled, as if theidea itself was too ridiculous to fathom. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Alfred muttered, desperately wishing for the topic to be dropped. “What matters is that there are some things more important than going back to Harvard.”

“More important than you schooling?” Arthur asked. 

“Yes, believe it or not.” Alfred shot back. 

“Well, education has always been my priority.” Alfred scoffed. 

“It’s a priority for me, too.” Alfred tried not to shout, unsure of why he was growing so defensive. 

“Evidently, it isn’t.” Arthur responded curtly. 

“You know,” Alfred now saw a few heads were turning in his direction. He tried to keep his voice down, but his anger was getting the better of him, “it’s really none of your business.”

“Apparently, it is,” Arthur glared at him, “since it landed you here.” Alfred couldn’t help but laugh. Arthur, barely older than him, was treating him like a damn child. 

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here either.”

Arthur sneered, “And I don’t want to be subject to watching over a nineteen year old who can’t take care of himself.”

“You really must think I’m an idiot.” Alfred could hear his own voice rising, but he couldn’t be bothered to lower it again. 

“No, actually,” Arthur stared at him, gaze cool. “I hardly think anything of you at all.” Something in Alfred switched at that comment. In a moment, he was up, his chair screeching backward as he stood. If possible, the entire hall now turned to stare at him. He didn’t bother to look at anyone. Before desert was even served, he was leaving.

In his outrage, Alfred had thankfully remembered to bring his champagne flute. At least in England he could get legally hammered. It had taken Alfred a few moments to persuade the secret service he was simply going to the bathroom and would be right back, before ducking down a hallway and allowing himself to get lost. Alfred recalled his first night in the White House. He didn’t sleep at all, though to be fair, no one in his family did. He simply wandered the halls with Mattie, counting things like decorative vases and gold doorknobs. He was 16 when his father had won, and though that was only three years ago, it felt a world away. Staring at yet another dead man’s portrait in what he supposed was a sitting room, Alfred was surprised to hear a voice behind him. 

“King George the Third.” Alfred turned around to see Rose, gazing up at the portrait with her head cocked to one side. “Bit of a dick, if you ask me.” Alfred nodded in agreement. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” Alfred mused. “You’ve had your fair share of shitty Kings, though.” Rose chuckled, coming up to stand beside him. 

“Yes, I suppose,” she grinned, “but, to be fair, every ruler has their quirks. My brother, for example, will be the first king to have an encyclopedic knowledge of Lord of The Rings, so we all have that to look forward to in our lifetime.” 

“Doesn’t your dad become King before your brother?” Alfred asked. 

“No,” Rose responded, voice strange and distant. She paused for a moment, giving King George a once over. She looked like Arthur in the same way Mattie looked like Alfred. There was something more delicate about her, but strength underneath. “My dad married my mother, the Queen’s daughter. She died when I was young.” Rose stared down at her own flute of champagne before taking a quick sip. “Since dad isn’t technically related to grandmother by blood, he’s not next in line,” Rose glanced at Alfred, “Arthur is.”

“Oh.” Alfred stared down at his own champagne. When he was young, he faintly recalled the news stories of the Princess dying. Back then, he never thought he’d be here, talking to her daughter. “I’m sorry about your mother.” 

“I don’t really remember her,” Rose shrugged. “The entirety of the country assures me she was rather wonderful, though.” 

“I’m sure she was.” Alfred wasn’t sure what else to say, but Rose seemed appreciative enough. She smiled at him. 

“Lucky me, I get to avoid the crown.” She began to walk around the room, running her hand over the mantle above a grand fire place. “Leaves me to pursue all sorts of frivolous, artistic things.”

“Like what?” 

“Oh, painting, sculpture,” she picked up a vase and examined it, “did a bit of ballet, but really, I don’t have the feet for it. Recently I’ve been very into opera.” 

“Never been much of a fan of opera, myself.” Alfred shrugged, taking another sip of champagne. “Can’t understand a word they’re saying.” This comment delighted Rose, and she collapsed into a peal of laughter. 

“I like you Alfred.” She nodded after catching her breath, as if finally coming to a conclusion she had been debating for a while. “I think this next month will be rather fun.”

“I think your brother,” Alfred glanced at her, “would beg to differ.” 

“My brother,” Rose’s eyes twinkled, “is a very strange boy.” She gazed around the decadent room, swirling her glass contemplatively. Taking another sip of champagne, she turned on her heel and made her way towards the door. “He has mentioned you before, though.”  
“He has?” Alfred asked, surprised. 

“Yes,” Rose turned around again, smiling sunnily, “said you were a twat.” 

“Yeah, sounds about right.” 

“Something tells me you didn’t get off on the right foot,” she shook her head, laughing at some private joke Alfred wasn’t in on, “but I’ll tell you a secret.”

“What’s that?” 

“His insides don’t match his outside.” Rose smiled, gentler this time. 

“What does that mean?” Alfred asked. 

“You’ll figure it out,” she winked. Alfred opened his mouth to ask but before he could, she was gone, and he was alone once again. 


	3. Chapter Two

The sun peaked up over the horizon, staining the sky like spilled wine. London wasn’t awake yet, but for some reason, Alfred was. His father, never one for groundings and time outs, was punishing Alfred for his state dinner episode in his own special way. They were going for an early morning run. Alfred wanted pancakes and bacon and cups upon cups of coffee. He really, really didn’t want to jogging around London, two security teams driving not far behind him. 

“Keep up son!” His father called in front of him. Alfred grimaced. “Where’s that initiative that made my son quarterback at not one, but three schools!” 

“Nice one, dad.” Alfred said through gritted teeth. Despite the lack of rain, London was still freezing. Alfred watched his breath cloud in front of him as he picked up his pace, falling into a jog beside his father. 

“We’re going golfing today.” His father reminded. 

“Yeah,” Alfred huffed out, “St. Andrews, right?” His father nodded.

“Will I have to look forward to a repeat of last night?”

Alfred shook his head, “Trust me, I’ll be avoiding Arthur like the plague.” 

“Might be hard, considering it’ll be you, me, him and Prince Henry all day.” His father chuckled. 

“I’ll manage.” Alfred insisted. 

“Will you ever tell me what actually happened?” His dad pressed. “What, did he insult your tie?” 

“It was nothing.” 

“It was childish.” Alfred slowed down slightly at his father’s words. “Alfred, promise me this whole month won’t be incident after incident.”

“If my plan of not talking to Arthur ever again works,” Alfred said to his father’s back, “it’ll be a breeze.” He picked up his pace again, this time jogging in front of his dad. The sky turned from an eerie red to a pale pink, and Alfred charged on ahead. 

 

The morning back at the house consisted of Arthur stepping out of every room Alfred stepped into. He left half his breakfast uneaten, muttering some excuse and brushing past Alfred on his way out. If the Prince noticed it, he didn’t say anything. He simply talked to Alfred’s dad about golf, a sport, Alfred decided, that was almost as boring to talk about as it was to play. Alfred went to take a shower, trying to delay the inevitability of the day. 

Thankfully, there was no cause to talk on the helicopter over. Alfred tugged his old bomber jacket around him and watched London recede into suburbs below. Alfred loved flying. He could never tear himself away from the window, which is why he could never fall asleep on plane rides, no matter how long they were. He always felt as if he’d miss something, something important. The flight was only an hour, and Alfred was happy to let it pass without even an attempt at conversation with Arthur. He simply watched houses fade into fields, which quickly welcomed a coast line. Clouds began to form the closer they got to the swarths of green course up ahead. By the time they landed, the day had turned overcast.

“Let’s hope the rain holds off.” His dad clapped him on the back once they landed. 

“Don’t worry,” Prince Henry chuckled, motioning to a few caddy’s already stationed on the course, “my country isn’t all doom and gloom.” Alfred glanced at Arthur, his expression clouded, and had a hard time believing that. A few official photographers came onto the course, snapping pictures. In the distance, Alfred spotted some news casters. This was why when he was offered a club, he declined. Not this many people needed to see him swing a driver like a baseball bat. Surprisingly, he watched Arthur do the same, choosing instead to walk behind his father as they played the first few holes. 

Golf had never been Alfred’s sport. While the Prince and his father discussed trade agreements, he easily wandered away from the course. Beyond the crest of a hill, Alfred caught sight of a the ocean, lapping lazily against the shore, turned muted and grey under the overcast sky. Alfred made his way onto the dunes. There were no photographers this far away from his dad, and surprisingly, not a tourist in sight. Just him and the sea. He smiled to himself. Same ocean as back home. 

A throat cleared behind him. He turned around, surprised to see Arthur, standing awkwardly in his dark green raincoat. 

“Not a fan of golf?” Arthur asked. Alfred shook his head, gaze turning back to the water. 

“Too slow for me.” Alfred confessed. A tide rolled in, splashing against the coast. “This place is amazing, though.” He loved a good beach, and even though this one was cold and decidedly not American, he could still admire it’s beauty. 

“Never been much of a golfer, either.” Arthur said, relaxing his posture slightly. “But the beach is always nice to visit.” For a moment, he let the conversation lapse.

“Listen,” Arthur began again, “last night.” He stared at Alfred uncomfortably. Alfred got it. Apologies had never been his thing either. For a moment, he thought Arthur was going to say more. Thankfully, he didn’t. He simply nodded. Alfred did the same. _There_ , he thought to himself, _back to square one_. 

“So, no golf,” Alfred began, “do you play any other sports?” Arthur glanced at him, evidently surprised by his effort to make conversation. 

“Tennis, football, some riding,” Arthur kicked a rock at his feet, “rugby.” Alfred couldn’t help but stare. 

“You play rugby?” He asked, noting the Prince’s rather small stature. Arthur glared at him. 

“Is that so hard to believe?” He demanded. 

“No, no, of course not.” Alfred held up his hands. “It’s just, I don’t even know if I could play rugby. Seems like football but…muddier.” Arthur chuckled at this. 

“It’s fun.” Arthur explained. “Great way to get out aggression. It’s healthy,” he glanced at Alfred, “and one of the only places to push blokes down in mud that’s approved by the royal family.” Alfred couldn’t help but laugh at this. A silence settled over them, and for the first time, it was bordering on comfortable. 

“So, um,” Alfred started, “your sister told me you really like Lord of The Rings.” Arthur perked up, flashing Alfred the first smile of his he’d ever seen. It was nice. 

“Yes!” He beamed. “I mean, yes. I’m a fan.” He repeated, subduing slightly. 

“Good books?” Alfred asked.

“You’ve never read them?” Arthur looked a bit shock. “They’re amazing. Indescribable. The universe Tolkien builds is…” he trailed off, his face reddening, “sorry, I’m blathering.”

“No, it’s fine.” Alfred stuffed his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, shielding himself against the wind. “I like books.”

“What kind of books?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Huck Finn is my favorite.” Alfred grinned. 

“How quintessentially American.” 

“What can I say?” Alfred shrugged. “Twain gets it.” 

“I’ve always been more of a fantasy man myself.” Arthur glanced down at the sand, watching his steps leave imprints. “Myths and legends.”

“Like King Arthur?” Alfred asked. Arthur paused, staring at him in a way Alfred didn’t quite understand. 

“Yes, quite,” Arthur cleared his throat, “like King Arthur.” He turned to the sea, grey and unwelcoming. In a rush, Alfred realized he didn’t want Arthur to retreat back into whatever shell he had. So, he decided to do something very, very stupid. He shucked off his shoes, tugged off his socks, and took off in a run. 

“My god!” Arthur yelled when he sprinted past. “What are you doing?” 

“This!” Alfred hesitated slightly before the water, taking the time to cuff up his pants to just below his knees. The water hit in feet, so cold it almost knocked the breath out of him. He laughed, turning around to face Arthur. “C’mon in, the water’s fine.” Arthur laughed, another first of the day. 

“Don’t be daft.” He called. “Alfred, you’ll catch your death.”

“Nah, I’m tougher than that.” 

Arthur stared at him for a moment, before approaching the shoreline gingerly. Carefully, he took his shoes off, then his socks, and laid them out next to each other. He cuffed his pants, just above the ankle, and waded out, still feet in front of Alfred. 

“It’s freezing.” 

“It’s not that bad.” Alfred shrugged. Just as he said this, a wind blew through, startling him. His foot found a rock under the waves and he fell, splashing into the water with a yelp. “Fuck!” He shot up instantly, already soaked. Arthur stared at him, mouth open, before he burst out laughing, loud and uproarious. Alfred laughed too, clumsily making his way back to shore. 

“You’re soaked.” Arthur gasped for breath, practically doubled over. 

“Like I said,” Alfred took off his glasses, grateful they hadn’t fallen off his face in the water. He gave his hair a quick shake, “water’s fine.” Arthur, on shore with him again, carefully put his shoes back on, still choking back laughter. 

“You are utterly ridiculous, Alfred Jones.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Alfred smirked. 

“I’m sure you have.” Arthur walked over to him, giving him a quick once over. He let out another chuckle. “God, I haven’t laughed like that in a very long time.”

“Glad to be of service,” Alfred slid his glasses back on and did a quick bow. Arthur scoffed with no menace, “your majesty.”

“Please, stand up. You look like an idiot,” Arthur crossed his arms, “and you should call me Arthur.”

“What about Artie?” Alfred asked. Arthur looked as though he might be sick. 

“No, just Arthur.” He insisted. 

“Whatever you say,” Alfred winked. “Artie.” 

If any color emerged on Arthur’s face after that nickname was given, Alfred assumed it was simply because of the cold. 

“I’ll have you expelled from the country if you’re not careful.” Arthur pointed an accusing finger at him, but the same annoyance he’d seemed to harbor before simply wasn’t there. Grinning, Alfred pulled his shoes back on. 

“Not if I send the Secret Service after you first.” 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Arthur smirked. Alfred surveyed the beach. In it’s cold way, the United Kingdom was rather beautiful. 

“We should get back,” he suggested after a moment. Arthur nodded, but neither one moved. They simply looked at each other, in a way they hadn’t before. Alfred had the strangest urge to reintroduce himself. However, he simply turned on his heel and began to walk back. Arthur followed, quickly catching up to walk beside him. Windswept, they made their way back to the course. 

When Alfred returned, soaked to the bone, his father didn’t say anything. Simply raised an eyebrow. A few minutes later, Maria handed him a towel. 

“Where’d you get this?” He asked. 

“I’m always prepared,” she smirked, glancing at Arthur, who was currently deep in conversation with Prince Henry, “for anything.” 

Alfred took the towel from her, resisting the urge to stick out his tongue. A barrier, it seemed, had been broken. Arthur was willing to talk to Alfred again. Despite the cold, Alfred found he didn’t mind the next few hours at all. 

 

They arrived back to Clarence House at dusk, greeted by a welcoming committee of Rose and Alfred’s mom. Rose, like her brother, was having the time of her life over Alfred’s still damp appearance. 

“What, did Arthur push you in?” She asked. 

“I’d never do such a thing.” Arthur insisted, passing her in the entry way. 

“Says the guy who pushes people for sport.” Alfred reminded. 

“You look positively drowned.” Rose laughed. Alfred’s mother, however, didn’t find the whole thing quite as funny. 

“Alfred, you’re going to catch a cold!” She chastised upon seeing him. “I’m not leaving you here with a flu.” For a moment, Alfred thought about reminding her she didn’t have to leave him here at all. For some reason, which he decided had nothing to do with the presence of Arthur, he held his tongue. 

“I’m fine, mom.” He assured. She took his word for it, apparently, since she immediately began to describe her day with Rose and the Queen. They’d had tea, she gushed, afternoon tea with the Queen. 

“Seems a bit sexist, doesn’t it?” Rose said, leading Alfred into one of the many sitting rooms the house had. “We have tea, you and the boys play golf.”

“I invited you to come play golf,” her father reminded, “you said you’d rather watch paint dry.”

“At least he gave you the option to not come.” Alfred muttered. His father shot him a look. The sitting room, like every other room in the house, was lavish. Alfred watched his family easily settle on the couches, talking to Rose and the Prince. Arthur, he noted, was no where to be found. 

“I’m going to change into some dry clothes,” Alfred said. 

“Come down for supper later, will you?” Rose asked. He nodded, excusing himself from the room. Maria was already stationed in the hall when he got upstairs. She glanced up briefly from her book. 

“Arthur dropped something off.” She gestured to Alfred’s door. As Alfred got closer, he couldn’t help but laugh. Stacked neatly was every Lord of The Rings book, in order. He picked up the first one, turning it over in his hands. 

“These are thick.” He turned back to Maria. “Couldn’t I just watch the movies?” 

“Yes,” she nodded, looking up at him once more, “but I think you should put in the effort.” Alfred hesitated for a moment before nodding in agreement. 

“Yeah,” he smiled. “I think so too.” 


	4. Chapter Three

Much to the surprise of the kitchen staff, the next morning consisted of Alfred stumbling in and beginning his quest for coffee. When all that his search yielded was some instant powder tucked away in the back recesses of a cabinet, he knew he was screwed. 

“Are you alright, Al?” His dad asked at breakfast that morning. 

“No coffee.” Arthur glanced up at him from across the table. 

“We have black tea.” He offered. 

“Not the same.” Alfred mumbled back groggily. Arthur rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his own tea and refocusing on his newspaper. Alfred finished his eggs and tried not to fall asleep on top of his plate.

 

Four hours and countless introductions later, Alfred was just as exhausted. This time, however, he risked falling asleep in the middle of Parliament. Below, his father was giving a speech, something about the “special relationship” between the UK and America. Alfred tried to pay attention, he really did, but somewhere between the talk of trade agreements and immigration policy, he had zoned out. 

That was, until, he received a sharp elbow in the side from Arthur. 

“Hey!” He whispered. 

“At least try and look like you’re not going to fall asleep at a moment’s notice.” Arthur chastised quietly. Alfred stifled a yawn. 

“Sorry, not a big fan of policy talk.” He expected a quip back, but Arthur’s attention was back on the speech. He watched it raptly, occasionally glancing around the audience to gauge reactions. See when they laughed, when they applauded. Alfred furrowed his brow. “But apparently it’s your cup of tea.” He snorted at his own joke. Arthur just glared at him. 

“Your father is a good speaker.” He finally whispered after a moment. Alfred shrugged. 

“He’s not bad.” 

“Better than I am.” Arthur murmured. “Have you ever spoken to your Congress?” 

“Me? God, no.” Alfred chuckled. “The most political I get is standing next to my dad when he pardons a turkey.” Arthur rolled his eyes, but Alfred still caught the smile that briefly crossed his face. 

For a while, neither of them said anything. They simply watched Alfred’s dad speak. Briefly, Alfred wondered how he would do as President. He often thought about it, though not in a serious way. Truthfully, politics weren’t exactly the future Alfred saw for himself. He liked the part that involved meeting a bunch of people, and the part that involved protecting his country. It was the cynicism he hated. All the angry people, trying to use the government to get what they wanted, not what was best. That was the part that drove him away. Alfred snuck a look at Arthur, who still concentrating on the President’s speech. He wondered if Arthur wanted to go into politics. In a rush, Alfred remembered Arthur didn’t have a choice 

By the time his father’s speech was over, Alfred was surprised he hadn’t collapsed due to hunger. 

“I’m starving.” He said over the applause. Arthur glanced at him. 

“Come on, then.” He nodded towards the door with his head. 

“Where are we going?” Alfred asked, ducking out of the chamber after Arthur. 

“I’m not going to put up with your complaining all day.” Arthur quipped. As they began to walk away from the chamber, two agents easily fell into step behind them (Arthur was beginning to have a hard time telling the difference between which ones were his and which ones were Arthur’s). “We’re getting food.” 

“Sweet!” Arthur beamed. “You sure you can miss the Prime Minister’s speech?”

“I have seen her speak many times,” Arthur headed down the stairs, “I think she’ll forgive me if I miss one. Besides,” he paused, a few steps below Alfred, “I could use a break from politics.” 

“I can get behind that.” Alfred grinned, catching up with him. “So, where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” 

 

Alfred examined the basket of fried food on the table. Arthur had taken him to a pub, of all places, just a few blocks away from Parliament. He had been given no say in the food, as Arthur had insisted he couldn’t go another day in the UK without having Fish and Chips. Alfred had, however, been able to choose his own beer. 

“Shouldn’t it be called ‘Fish and Fries’?” He asked, grabbing a bottle of ketchup. 

“Careful,” Arthur pointed a fry at him accusingly. “That’s legally blasphemy.” Alfred laughed, taking another swing of his beer. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “For someone coming from a country where they can’t legally drink, you handle your beer well.” 

“I’ve had some experience.” Alfred said, a bit sheepishly. 

“You go to a lot of parties?”

“No, not a ton.” Alfred shrugged. “I mean, at school I went to a few but it’s hard to do much of anything with secret service agents breathing down your neck.” 

“Tell me about it.” There was a sadness in Arthur’s voice Alfred didn’t expect to hear.

“You party at Oxford?” He asked. Arthur shook his head. 

“No, large group gatherings with drugs and alcohol are no place for a future king.” He bit into a fry. “My father’s words, not mine.” 

“Damn,” Alfred shook his head, “that sucks.”

“It wasn’t too bad.” Arthur shrugged. “I still had friends. Just spent more time in the library than other students.” 

“That’s good. At least the whole ‘royal’ thing didn’t completely kill your social life.”

“Yes, well, Uni is one thing.” Arthur glanced out at the street, expression absent. “It’s easier to feel normal there.” Alfred followed his gaze. A few paparazzi stood on the other side of the street, cameras flashing.

“Think I should flash them?” Alfred asked. Arthur almost choked on his beer. 

“Don’t be absurd.”

“What?” Alfred grinned. “Then we’d really make the front page.”

“I have made the front page of far too many of their trashy tabloids already, thank you very much.”

“Seriously?” Alfred asked. “What, they caught you walking out of the library too late one night?”

“Something like that.” Arthur smirked, taking another sip of his beer. “Granted, most of the headlines are complete rubbish. Either I’m hoarding mountains of cocaine, a legion of hookers, or possibly a treasure map.”

“Don’t even mentioned treasure map to me.” Alfred said through a mouthful of fish. “When my dad didn’t come home on day one with a Presidential Book of Secrets I lost all hope.”

“I do hope your view of the government your father runs doesn't come from Nicholas Cage films,” Arthur said, “and don’t speak with your mouth full.”

Alfred stuck out his tongue. Arthur threw a fry at him.

In that moment, Alfred couldn’t help but wonder what Arthur would be like if he didn’t carry such a large responsibility on his shoulders. Arthur took another sip of his beer, watching crowds of people mill around on the streets. He was funny, Alfred realized, in a weird way. Funny and surprisingly talkative. Very different from the person Alfred had been expecting to spend the next few weeks with. 

“What are you looking at?” Arthur asked. Alfred hadn’t even realized he’d been staring.

“Nothing.” He murmured. 

The door to the pub burst open, camera shutters going off wildly. Before Alfred could react, a small hoard of reporters was rushing up to their table. 

“Mr. Jones, how are you enjoying England?”

“What does the President think?”

“Why aren’t you leaving with the President and the First Lady?”

In the flurry of noise, one reporter pushed closer. 

“Prince Arthur, is it true the royal family is paying Mr. Jones to befriend you?” Arthur stiffened instantly. The reporter shoved the microphone closer.

“No.” Alfred began forcibly. Arthur stared at him, a bit shocked. “I mean, um, I asked to stay here.” It wasn’t the truth, but it sounded a lot better than the story the reporter was pushing. “I thought the stay would be…” Alfred trailed off slightly, staring at the crowd, “good for me.” 

The reporter pulled back slightly, giving Alfred the opportunity to give Arthur’s arm a tug. He threw a few pounds on the table and pushed passed the crowd, secret service agents coming up behind to keep the reporters away. Outside, a car was already waiting. 

They were half way to Clarence House before Arthur finally spoke. 

“You didn’t have to say that.” Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. “Lie on my behalf, I mean.”

“It wasn’t a lie.” Alfred insisted. “I mean, ok, it wasn’t the whole truth but it sure as hell makes this whole trip look a lot better.” 

“Quite right.” Arthur murmured, turning to face the window. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Swoop in and try to be the hero?” 

“It’s kind of my thing.” Alfred shrugged.

“Well, believe it or not, I can take care of myself just fine.” Arthur said, a surprising amount of venom appearing in his tone. 

“I never said you couldn’t.” Alfred shot back. 

“Then don’t treat like I’m some sort of damsel waiting to be saved.” 

“Are you always like this?” 

“Like what?” Arthur demanded.

“An asshole.” Arthur blanched. Alfred instantly regretted the words, though he wasn’t sure why. To Alfred’s surprise, though, Arthur began to laugh. 

“No one has called me an asshole in a very long time.”

“Well, maybe that’s all that’s going on,” Alfred shrugged, “you just need to be called an asshole more.”

“People usually don’t go around calling Princes ‘assholes’.”

“Not to their face.” Alfred mumbled. Arthur laughed again, and soon Alfred was laughing too. 

“Well, if I’m an asshole, than you’re…”

“A wanker?” Alfred suggested.

“You catch on fast.” Arthur glanced out the window. The mood in the car drooped with his expression. “Alfred,” he began again, not facing him, “when your father and mother leave, you don’t have to spend time with me.” He met Alfred’s gaze, briefly, before letting it flicker away again. “I won’t force you to, I mean.” 

“People usually aren’t good at making me do things I don’t want to, aside from my parents and the secret service.” Alfred smiled. “I don’t mind…spending time with you,” Alfred saw him relax, just slightly, “even if you are an old man.” 

“Please, I’m barely older than you!”

“Really? I could’ve sworn you were coming up on fifty.” Alfred feigned shock. Arthur pursed his lips, fighting a smile. 

“Well, you do often behave like a toddler,” he shrugged, “that must be where the confusion comes from.” Alfred laughed, watching out the window as London blew past. He began to wonder if he could ever really like the city. He felt like he was starting to.

 

They were eating dinner obscenely early and Alfred was already exhausted. He would have to find a Starbucks near the house, or he risked spending every day this worn out. 

“Where did the two of you run off to after my speech?” Alfred’s father asked over the salad that night. 

“We went to a pub.” Arthur explained. Across the table, the President raised an eyebrow as his son. Alfred focused on his spinach, which he had spent the last ten minutes pushing around his plate. 

“Well, Abby and I will be heading out tomorrow,” Alfred’s dad began, nodding towards his wife. A stiff silence settled over the table. They would be leaving. Alfred would not. For a moment, he wondered exactly how his parents had brought up the idea to the royal family in the first place. Did they say he was problem child? That he needed constant supervision, lest he try to overthrow Parliament? 

Prince Henry cleared his throat, “Yes, we’ll be there to see you off.”

“Thank you so much for your… continued generosity.” Alfred’s mom smiled. Suddenly, Alfred wished he could be anywhere else but the table. He felt like a petulant child, one who his parents had apparently deemed too immature to survive without supervision. 

“Excuse me,” he muttered, standing hastily, “I think I’m gonna turn in early.”

“It’s barely six.” His mother pointed out.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m really tired.” Alfred dismissed himself, leaving the room before she could object again. He was surprised when, barely halfway up the stairs, he heard his own name being called. 

Arthur stood at the foot of the stair case, motioning for him to follow. Alfred did, albeit reluctantly. 

“Listen, dude,” Alfred sighed, expecting Arthur to try to lead him back into the dining room, “I should get to bed.”

“First of all, never call me dude again.” Arthur turned around briefly to glare at him. “Second of all, you can sleep. After this.” Much to Alfred’s surprise, Arthur passed the dining room, leading him instead to the kitchen just down the hall. 

Once inside, Alfred’s eyes found the massive coffee maker immediately. 

“What’s this?” He asked, stepping closer to examine it. 

“I was told it’s a coffee maker.” Arthur stared at it apprehensively. “Though you could’ve fooled me. The damn thing looks like it could power a space ship.” 

“No, I mean, why is it here?” Alfred asked. “It wasn’t here this morning.”

“Yes, well, that would be because no one in this house has ever felt the desire to drink coffee before,” Arthur huffed, “until you. So, I asked one of the cooks to run out and grab one today.”

“For me?” 

“Yes, you idiot.” Arthur rolled his eyes, a gesture that Alfred was becoming very familiar with. “You’re the only one living here with bad enough taste to drink it, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Alfred grinned, running his hand over it like he would a nice car. 

“You’re quite welcome.” Arthur nodded. “Though I simply don’t understand why you refuse to drink tea.”

“Never liked the taste of it.” Alfred shrugged, turning to face Arthur. “Really, though. Thank you.” Arthur stared at him, a bit taken aback by his sincerity. 

“Your stay here doesn’t have to be a jail sentence, you know.” Arthur cleared his throat. “We can at least try to make it somewhat enjoyable.” 

For a moment Alfred wasn’t sure what to say. A timer behind him went off, and he turned around. It was the first time he realized there were other people in the room. 

“Dessert’s ready,” Arthur motioned awkwardly to the stove, “if you want it.”

“I’d never say no to food.” Alfred grinned. Arthur, to his surprise, looked relieved, if only for a moment. 

“Right then.” He nodded, and they were leaving together again. 


	5. Chapter Four

The departure was much like the arrival, mainly because it was raining. Alfred watched his parents give a final wave as they boarded Air Force One, a strange feeling of finality settling in his stomach. It was only for a month, Alfred kept reminding himself. He tried his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially the reporters near by. The reality of the trip hadn’t quite set in, until now. It wasn’t that Alfred didn’t like spending time with Arthur and his family, it was simply the lack of choice he had in the matter that was getting to him. He watched the plane depart into the grey sky and felt a sense of exile. 

On the car ride back, Alfred tried not to look too miserable. Judging by Arthur’sexpression, it wasn’t working. A sticky silence had settled between them again. Alfred wanted to say something, just to make it go away, but he couldn’t. He was too caught up in his own thoughts. 

The day passed wearily. Alfred had secluded himself to his room, Arthur muttered something about a meeting, and they went their separate ways. Alfred didn’t see him again until lunch, which ended up only being the two of them and Rose. Prince Henry, Arthur had explained, was still out on meetings, a few of which Arthur had sat in on. For some reason, however, he had elected to return to the house for lunch. A lunch that had so far consisted only of Rose talking about her nude portrait class.

When she got to describing the trouble of capturing male figures accurately, Arthur changed the subject. 

“Have you finally decided on what you’re going to wear tonight?” He asked hastily, pouring milk in his tea as a some sort of distraction for himself. Alfred watched it turn pale, catching the slight frown that crossed Arthur’s face. 

“Yes, the yellow one.” Rose grinned. 

“What’s tonight?” Alfred asked, glancing up from the tea. His gaze ran right into Arthur’s, just for a moment, before he looked away again.

“A benefit dinner,” Arthur answered, sipping his tea, “for a charity we founded.”

“You should come!” Rose beamed. “Unless you have other, pressing plans.”

“Sure, I was just gonna stay in and read ‘The Hobbit’.” Arthur practically choked on his tea.

“You’re reading ‘The Hobbit’?” He asked, surprise evident. 

“Yeah, why not?” Alfred shrugged. Arthur looked at him strangely. Rose cleared her throat. 

“Anyway, you’ll come, right?”

“Will I have to wear a tux?” Alfred asked. 

“You’ll have to wear a tux.” Arthur responded. 

“I don’t have a tux.” 

“You’ll have to get a tux.” Rose shot her brother a look. 

“What Arthur is trying to say is that you two will go get a tux.” She smiled at her brother. “Right, Arthur?” There was a moment of hesitation before Arthur nodded. 

“Yes, of course.” He said, refusing to take his eyes off his tea. 

“Why not?” Alfred repeated, staring down at his coffee. 

“Glad that that’s settled.” Rose said perkily, and left the table. 

 

The second Alfred entered the shop, he felt instantly underdressed. Rows of jackets, pants and finely pressed shirts lined the walls. Everything was oak and mahogany. Arthur fit in with ease. 

“Prince Arthur,” a man behind the counter greeted sunnily. “How may I help you?”

“Good afternoon, Lester.” Arthur smiled. “My, um,” he hesitated slightly, glancing toward Alfred, “my friend needs a proper tux.” Lester bustled out from behind the counter, pulling a measuring tape seemingly out of nowhere. 

“That can be arranged.” He smiled politely at Arthur. “Right this way.” Alfred was being ushered towards the back of the store, where a small podium stood in the center of a semi-circle of mirrors. 

“Do I have to stand on that?” He asked. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” Arthur said, settling into a leather couch positioned behind the podium. Alfred was never one to shy away from being the center of attention, but at the moment, he didn’t relish the idea of being measured and poked at in front of Arthur. 

“Right,” he finally mumbled, getting up on top of the podium. Lester began measuring him instantly. Measuring _every_ part of him. Alfred stared at the ceiling, praying for the whole thing to be over soon. He spared a glance back at Arthur, who had thankfully tugged out his phone and was typing away on it. Finally, after what felt like years, Lester was finished. 

“I think we have a few styles that would work well for you, Mr. Jones.”

“How do you know my name?” Alfred asked, a bit taken aback. 

“Sorry, sir, but I do have my guilty pleasures in life,” Lester smiled sheepishly, “one of them happens to be tabloids.” He shuffled back towards his desk, pulling something out a stack of magazines out from behind it. Alfred stared at the one on the top, surprised to see a picture of himself and Arthur on the front page. 

“Holy shit.” He accepted the pile. Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you seen these?”

“No, I usually don’t trouble myself with magazines like that.” Arthur cleared his throat, busying himself with his phone again. Alfred picked out the first magazine. He’d never seen himself on a front cover before, unless he happened to be positioned behind his father for a photo-op.

“‘Prince Arthur and President’s Son Go On Afternoon Pub-Crawl’.” Alfred read the headline with a laugh. “We went to one pub.”

“They don’t care,” Arthur shrugged, “they just go with whatever title sells more copies.”

“‘Prince Arthur Day-Drunk With Mystery Man.’” Alfred laughed at his obscured face on the next cover, “I’ve never been a mystery man before.”

“Welcome to the exciting world of English tabloid coverage.” Arthur smiled sarcastically. “Trust me, you’ll get called a lot worse.”

“Have you?” Alfred asked. 

“Of course.” Arthur shrugged. “I’ve been on covers since before I could walk, I’ve been called everything.”

“That…sucks.” Alfred grimaced, wishing he could come up with something better to say. 

“You get used to it,” Arthur assured. “Besides, you learn to only listen to the voices that matter.” Lester, who had disappeared into the recesses of the store, chose this moment to reemerge, arms full of various black and white items of clothing. 

“This way, if you please, Mr. Jones.” He gestured with his head towards a row of dressing room. 

“Thanks,” Alfred gratefully stepped down from the podium, setting the pile of tabloids to the side again, “and you can call me Alfred.” Lester nodded, and even though Alfred couldn’t see it, Arthur was smiling. 

 

Tuxes, it turned out, were complicated things. What Alfred had originally reasoned would only take an hour had turned into four, but he wasn’t complaining. Arthur, it turned out, was fun to shop with. 

“I look like I’m going to my senior prom.” Alfred sneered, adjusting his jacket in the mirror.

“At least you had a senior prom!” Arthur called from the shelf of ties he was examining. 

“You didn’t ever have a prom?” Alfred asked. 

“Of course not,” Arthur picked up a red tie, “Remember? Large gatherings with drugs and alcohol…”

“Not for future kings.” Alfred did his best impression of an English accent, which earned him a baffled laugh from Arthur. 

“That was horrible.” 

“Then give me your best American accent!” Alfred challenged, catching Arthur’s eye in the mirror. 

“I will not.” He insisted. 

“Then I’ll just keep doing my British one.” Alfred threatened. 

“Fine, I surrender!” Arthur chuckled. He hesitated for a moment, glancing around the store to assure they were alone. “I’m walking here!” He tried. Alfred practically collapsed with laughter. 

“You sound like you’re choking on something.” He gasped through laughter. 

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad!” 

“It was really bad.” Alfred snorted. “As a New Yorker, I am personally offended.”

“No more accents?” Arthur suggested. 

“No more accents.” Alfred agreed, tugging out the white bow tie Lester had insisted on giving him.

“What about a top hat?” Alfred suggested, grabbing one from a hook beside the podium

“You’ll look like Abraham Lincoln.” Arthur chuckled, watching Alfred try on the hat. 

“Exactly.” He smirked, turning around and tossing the hat to Arthur. Arthur put it on. 

“Much better.” Alfred assessed. 

“I look like an 19th century poet.” Arthur laughed, looking at himself in the mirror. 

“Exactly.” Alfred repeated. He exchanged the jacket he had on for another one that Lester had set on the couch beside him, one with substantially less velvet.. “That’s more like it,” he decided, “very Bond, don’t you think?” 

“Something like that.” Arthur chuckled, coming up to stand behind him. “Do you like it?”

“Do you?” Alfred asked, turing around to face Arthur. His face reddened at the question.

“Well, if you must know, yes,” Arthur said, a bit flustered. “I think it suits you.”

“Thanks,” Alfred felt his own face heating up slightly, though he wasn’t sure why, “I guess I’ll take it.” 

 

Alfred was sure by the end of the visit he would lose track of how many palaces he’d been to. The first week wasn’t even close to being over, and he was already on his third. This one was simply called the Banqueting House, which seemed like an appropriate name for a place to host a dinner. Rose had insisted on arriving early to make sure the decorations were as planned. It wasn’t because she liked decorating, she had explained to Alfred on the way over. 

“I just don’t trust anyone.” She said. Alfred had agreed to come early with her, while Arthur had been forced to stay behind for a bit, just to tie up some loose ends. 

“So, what’s the charity for?” Alfred had asked before they left, watching Arthur type furiously away on his phone for the umpteenth time that day. 

“Building wells in countries with water insecurity.” Arthur responded. “You’d think it wouldn’t be so complicated just bloody helping people.” 

Now, Alfred was holding what could only be described as a pile of yellow flowers. Rose was currently grilling the man responsible for the floral arrangements. 

“I respect daisies, Tim, I really do,” she pointed at the centerpieces, “but yellow roses have a certain elegance to them, don’t you think?”

“Of course, Princess.” Tim responded, nodding eagerly. Rose frowned. 

“Now, I don’t want you just agreeing with me because I’m royalty, Tim.” She insisted. 

“I would never.” Tim’s voice took on a pleading tone. Rose laughed, clapping him on the shoulder affectionately. 

“Perfect!” She exclaimed. “Alfred, the roses.” Alfred shuffled over, arms overflowing with the yellow blooms. Rose began picking them out, placing them strategically within the centerpieces. 

“Thanks for your help, Jones.” She grinned at him, once Tim had given a hasty bow and practically scurried away. 

“No problem.” Alfred smiled. “You know, you’re pretty good at taking control of situations.”

“I was given the ‘Most Likely To Run The Country’ superlative in school,” Rose replaced a chrysanthemum with a rose, looked at it thoughtfully, and put the chrysanthemum back, “but I think that has more to do with my family tree than it does my personality.”

“Would you ever want to be Queen?” Alfred asked. Rose looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He could see the resemblance to Arthur. “Sorry, was that too personal?”

Rose shook her head with a spark of laughter, “No, it’s just not a question I’m used to hearing.” She picked up a daisy, rubbing her thumb and forefinger absentmindedly over the petals. “I don’t think I would, though. I’d have to give up my blossoming career in flower arranging.” 

“Nice one.” Alfred remarked. 

“Thank you.” She did a quick curtsy. Straightening up, she tucked the daisy behind Alfred’s ear with a definitive nod. “There, now your ensemble is perfect.” 

The last of the roses were placed on the appropriate tables, and Alfred finally surveyed the whole ballroom. It looked as if they were about to eat dinner in a sunbeam. The whole room bloomed, yellow flowers cascading out of every centerpiece, and the windows let in the now retreating sunlight. Large, golden chandeliers dangled above the tables. More flowers decorated the many pillars, and flowed down from the small balcony above, giving the sense that the room itself was being overgrown.

“What do you think?” Rose asked. 

“It’s beautiful,” Alfred glanced up at the elaborate ceiling, depicting what he assumed was some sort of biblical scene, “and fancy.”

“We royals aim to please.” Rose smiled, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get changed. I didn’t decorate this whole room to match my dress for nothing.” Alfred nodded, already having changed into his tux beforehand. Rose had said he looked dapper. He just thought he looked like a waiter. In Rose’s absence, Alfred found himself simply making slow circles around the room, trying to make sense of everything. He still felt wildly out of place, even in his expensive tux. Tables stood in stately rows, covering almost the whole room, save for a small stage and podium at the far end. He supposed that was where Arthur would be speaking. Alfred approached it, wondering how many times Arthur had stood behind a podium just like it, and spoken at dinners just like the one he was about to host. 

“I see my sister had her way with the room.” Alfred turned around at the sound of Arthur’s voice, echoing from the other end of the massive ballroom. Arthur wore a tux very similar to Alfred’s, save for the handful of medals pinned to the right breast. 

“What did you win those for?” Alfred asked, motioning to the ornaments. Arthur shook his head, walking the length of the room to meet him. 

“Nothing. They’re all honorary titles,” Arthur stopped in front of Alfred, “don’t worry, I haven’t actually done anything noble.” Alfred was about to respond, when Arthur did the strangest thing. He reached up and brushed the hair away from Alfred’s ear. For a moment, Alfred’s whole body tensed up. Arthur pulled away, holding the daisy between his fingers. 

“I see my sister had her way with you, too.” He smirked. Alfred felt himself relax. 

“She’s one hell of an aggressive flower arranger.” 

“She’s an aggressive everything.” Arthur frowned, tucking the daisy back into the nearest table’s centerpiece. “Your bow tie, by the way, is a travesty.” Alfred glanced down at his mangled black tie. 

“Yeah, I never exactly learned how to tie them.”

“What did they teach you over at Harvard?” Arthur asked. Alfred briefly recalled their last fight, his eyes darting to the floor. “Sorry, I mean,” Arthur hesitated, gauging for Alfred’s reaction, “I didn’t mean to bring that up, again.”

“No, it’s fine.” Alfred insisted. “Besides, you’re right. Three Ivies, and no bow tying skills.” Arthur laughed at this, taking a step closer to Alfred. He began to fuss with his tie, first undoing the horrible attempt Alfred was responsible for. 

“How did you get expelled, if I may ask?” Arthur asked quietly, as if he was somehow hoping Alfred wouldn’t hear him. 

“I have a tendency towards protest.” Alfred didn’t feel much like elaborating. Arthur didn’t make him. Rather, he simply continued to fix the tie. Alfred stared at the top of his head, his flaxen hair incredibly similar to the pale tulips Rose had placed around the pillars. 

“There,” Arthur looked up at him after a moment of silence had lapsed, “that’s better.” Alfred glanced down at his now presentable tie. 

“Thanks.” He grinned. Arthur, still closer than necessary, straightened the tie out one last time.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Arthur murmured, mid-adjustment. A pause, and his eyes widened. “At this benefit, I mean.” He clarified hastily. 

“Me too.” Alfred watched Arthur step away. For a moment, he missed his proximity. 

Rose announced her reentry by flinging open the doors on the other side of the room. Arthur practically jumped out of his skin, immediately busying himself with examining the place cards on the nearest table. 

“Arthur!” Rose beamed. “What do you think of the flowers?”

“It looks like spring vomited.” He called back. Rose laughed gleefully. 

“Thoughts on the dress, Jones?” She asked when she was closer to Alfred.

“It certainly does fit the color scheme.” He commented. The dress was a buttercup yellow, with a billowing tulle skirt, giving Rose the appearance that she herself had simply risen up out of one of the centerpieces. 

“That’s always the goal.” She smacked her brother’s hand away from a table. “Don’t mess anything up, guests are due any minute.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at his sister, “Fine,” he turned to Alfred, “we should go into the hall and be ready to greet people.”

“You want me to greet people?” Alfred asked. He had expected to be tucked away near the dessert table for most of the party, if he was honest. He wasn’t sure how much Arthur wanted his presence to be known. 

“Don’t be daft, of course you’re greeting people.” Arthur insisted. 

Alfred nodded, “I’ll do my best to not embarrass the name of the royal family.” 

“Please, you’re more charming than the lot of us.” With that, Arthur became talking to his sister again, trying to figure out last minute seating changes. Alfred, still unsure of his place, followed them into the hallway, where guests were already filtering in. 

Arthur shook hands with ease, accepting gracious bows from various guests. He radiated something Alfred couldn’t quite put his finger on. People seemed to like him in a way that went beyond his title and rank, and yet, there was still something inherently royal about the way he held himself. Strangely, it wasn’t off-putting.

They hadn’t spent much time together, but Alfred realized he’d quickly forgotten just how important Arthur was. It was impossible to forget now. 


	6. Chapter Five

Alfred was woken up far too early the next morning by a sharp series of knocks at his door. Before he could rouse himself to open it, Maria was already letting herself in. 

“You have a visitor.” She greeted. Rose bounded into Alfred’s room, already dressed. 

“Good morning, Jones.” Rose threw open Alfred’s curtains, letting in the light. Alfred cringed. 

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, “what time is it?”

“Just past eight.” Rose replied. “Now, get dressed. We’re going out.”

“We are?” Alfred grabbed his glasses from his bedside table, bringing the world into focus. 

“Yes, you and I have a lot to talk about.” Rose winked, and with that, left the room. 

“It’s too early for this.” Alfred grumbled. Maria chuckled. 

“Get dressed, Hero.” She said, employing Alfred’s nickname. “You don’t want to keep the Princess waiting.”

 

It turned out that Rose had a whole day planned for the two of them. Arthur was nowhere to be found when Alfred finally got downstairs, but before he could ask anyone about it, Rose was tugging him out of the house and into a car. 

“Am I being kidnapped?” He asked. 

“Yes, and forcibly so, if I may add.” She said, plopping down into the seat across from him. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Coffee.” Was the only response he got. But frankly, it was enough. 

The café Rose had chosen was situated near the Thames. Alfred could see Big Ben from the window beside the table Rose had picked out for them. 

“Best coffee in London,” Rose assured when they sat down, “though personally I wouldn’t know.”

“You prefer tea?” Alfred guessed. 

“It runs in the family.” She grinned. Rose had also apparently ordered the majority of the bakery as well, considering how crowded their table was with deserts and pastries. She was currently working on destroying a creme puff. “So, Alfred,” she began again after a moment, “how are you liking Clarence House?”

“It’s beautiful,” he assured hastily, “thanks so much for having me.” Rose raised an eyebrow. 

“Please, Jones, I’m not my father,” Rose smirked, “I know you must hate the decoration in that place as much as I do.” 

“It is a bit…much.” Alfred finally admitted. 

“It’s always been like that.” Rose explained. “I’ve lived there since I was born, and the decor has unfortunately never improved.” Alfred briefly recalled his own childhood home in Queens. It was pretty modest. His dad has just been elected to the House of Representatives then. 

“Growing up there must have been…fun.” Alfred ventured. Rose nodded. 

“It was fun, of course. No one hosted sleepovers like I did.” She smiled fondly. “But I never did get to have my own space.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked, remembering the room he had shared with Mathew when they were younger. 

“Well, I could never decorate my room. The whole damn house is meant to be preserved. And then at boarding school, I had to share a room with Heather.” Rose sneered.

“Heather?”

“Insufferable girl. Daughter of some investment banker. I had to live with her at St. Agnes.” Rose explained, referencing her old school. “Did you ever go to boarding school, Jones?”

“No, I mean, I went to private school my whole life, but that’s just a Catholic thing.”

“You’re Catholic?” Rose asked, expression gleeful. “Oh, tell me you were an alter boy!”  
“I was, once. I ended up tripping the priest, though, so I was never asked to be one again.” Alfred explained sheepishly. Rose let out a snort of laughter. 

“Alfred Jones.” Rose mused. “First son, delinquent Catholic, utter enigma.”

“I promise I’m not that mysterious.” Alfred insisted. “Just ask Mattie, he knows everything about me and can attest to that fact that there’s not much to know.

“Mattie’s your brother, isn’t he?” Rose asked. 

“Yeah, kid brother.” Alfred smiled. “He was always the good one.”

“You two get along?” Rose asked, spooning some sugar into her tea. 

“Sure,” Alfred shrugged, “we tell each other everything. But I can’t help but feel kinda protective, you know?”

“Trust me,” Rose’s smile faltered slightly, “I know.” Her eyes drifted out the window, watching the Thames.

“Is everything alright?” Alfred asked after a moment. Rose nodded, refocusing on the task of stirring sugar into her tea. 

“I like you, Alfred.” She began after a moment. “I usually don’t like my brother’s friends, but…” she briefly caught his eye, smiling slightly, “I like you.” Alfred took a moment to acknowledge the fact that yes, at this point, he supposed he could call himself Arthur’s friend. 

“I’m honored.” Alfred finally said, a bit sarcastically, unsure of how the handle the tone. Rose just chuckled. 

“Really,” she insisted, “I knew some of Arthur’s friends at Uni. They were nice and all but they were the type of people you expect to meet during Uni. All about parties and girls and skipping class.” 

“Not really Arthur’s type?” Alfred reasoned. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Rose shrugged, “but I suppose he wouldn’t either.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked. 

“Well, Arthur’s never really gotten the chance to just…” Rose trailed off, glancing out the window again. Fog rolled into over the Thames, approaching like a beast, “just be a person.”

“Oh.” Alfred murmured, feeling like a bit like he was interrupting something between Rose and the city outside. 

“Growing up, I mean, he was told by our father who to spend time with. At boarding school, the headmaster kept such a close eye on him.” Rose shook her head disdainfully. “Even at Uni, I feel like he just did what he thought he was supposed to do. Went to parties, talked to girls.” Faintly, Alfred felt something unpleasant settle in his gut. He supposed it was the weak coffee. 

“Did he, um,” Alfred cleared his throat, feeling strangely intrusive, “ever have a girlfriend?” Rose raised an eyebrow at him, expression impish. 

“No, he didn’t.” She said. “My father is a kind man, and Arthur knows that. But he understands the responsibilities of the throne. Anything Arthur does can be held against him when he’s king.”

“So, he’s never dated anyone?” 

Rose shook her head, “Never.”

“Oh.” 

“Like I said, he’s never really gotten the chance to just be a person,” Rose stirred her tea, “just a future monarch.” Fog began to smother the city outside, turning everything grey and misty. Rose chuckled to herself. 

“But enough about my brother,” she began, “I barely know you, Jones. Fill me in more.”

“What do you want to know?” Alfred asked, preparing himself for questioning. Rose beamed. 

“Everything, you dolt!” She insisted. “What about Uni? Did you do manage to have any fun there?”

Alfred shrugged, “Um, something like that.”

 

After the café came the museum. It was full of sculptures Alfred didn’t really understand, but Rose couldn’t get enough of them. The questions didn’t stop coming. Alfred felt a bit like he was being interrogated. 

“Do you vet all of Arthur’s friends this thoroughly?” Alfred asked with a chuckle while they were crossing a foot bridge, off to whatever destination Rose had planned next. Rose hesitated, catching his eye. Her expression was tight. 

“I should’ve.” She mumbled. 

“Sorry, did I say something wrong?” Alfred asked. 

“No, no,” Rose smiled again, but it was damper this time. She moved towards the edge of the bridge, letting her hands rest on the railing, “I just mean…I should’ve been there for Arthur before, and I wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Alfred asked, joining her by the railing. Rose leaned out slightly, staring out at nothing, her forearms draped over the side of the bridge. 

“A rumor came out, when Arthur was at Uni.” Rose began, fiddling with her gloves, “some shitty tabloid printed it, so it was clearly fake. But still.”

“What did it say?” Alfred asked cautiously. 

“Just your usual garbage,” Alfred looked at her, surprised to see her eyes dampen, “stuff about the parties, the drinking,” she paused, still not meeting Alfred’s eyes, “who he was sleeping with.”

“Oh, shit.” Alfred murmured. Rose nodded. 

“It turned out some asshole he had been hanging out with leaked everything to the press.” Rose shook her head in disgust. “He just…shut himself off for a while. I didn’t know what to do.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.” Alfred insisted. He remembered when he had first been expelled from Yale. Mattie had tried to cheer him up. Alfred had punched a hole in his wall. 

“I wasn’t there for him at all during that time.” Rose continued somberly, her voice thin like tissue paper. “Father was livid for months, and I was so focused on myself I couldn’t…” she trailed off, eyes dampening, “I was just an absolute shit sister.”

“I know the feeling,” Alfred leaned over the edge of the bridge as well, watching taxis move along the streets near the river. “Mattie got this great opportunity, last year. Some arctic science thing up in Canada. It was, like, all he wanted. He had worked his ass off for it.” Alfred sighed. “And I had just gotten kicked out of Princeton. I was so wrapped up in my own screw-up, I barely congratulated him.” Rose looked at him, her cheeks glistening. “Despite the fact that Mattie had been there for me, through every expulsion and fuck up, I couldn’t even be there for him when something went right.”

“Was he angry?” Rose asked. Alfred chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Mattie? Of course not.” Alfred assured. “I mean, thankfully I had pulled my head out of my ass before he left, so I could at least give him a proper goodbye.” Alfred glanced at Rose. “Arthur doesn’t hold anything against you, I can tell.”

“I know he doesn’t.” Rose sniffled slightly, giving Alfred a small smile. “He’s kingly like that.”

“And I promise I’m not gonna leak anything to the press.” Alfred reassured. “Firstly, I’m not a total dick.” Rose let out a proper laugh at this. “And secondly,” Alfred paused slightly, catching a glimpse of the emerging sun on the water below, “I wouldn’t hurt Arthur like that.” 

The sun began to properly break through the fog now, flooding the city with a milky light. Rose smiled up at it. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Alfred.” Alfred nodded, watching the sun fight through the sheen of clouds. 

“Me too.” 

 

Rose had gone out again not long after they arrived back at Clarence House, mentioning something about a show opening she had promised to attend. Alfred had been able to sit still for about an hour, willing himself to read, before he grew bored. On his venture down to the kitchen, he was surprised to hear the faint twinkle of piano music echoing through the halls of the house. 

The music lead him towards the back of the house, a part Alfred hadn’t been to yet. Things were less polished back here, he quickly realized. Old furniture collected dust in rooms that no one had bothered to close the door to. A few pieces of the wallpaper peeled. Alfred made it all the way to the end of the hall, before he realized where the music was coming from.

The drawing room he entered was practically empty, save for a large piano positioned near the window. Sunlight, streaming in through the massive windows, illuminated particles of dust. A curtain hung over an unused fireplace, giving the whole room a feeling of abandonment. The only sign of life was Arthur, playing the piano, at the center of everything. 

His playing didn’t pause, even when he glanced behind him at Alfred’s entrance. He just smiled, gesturing silently for Alfred to join him. Moving like he was in a church, all quite and reserved and entirely out of character, Alfred moved to join Arthur on the bench. 

Alfred watched Arthur’s hands move across the keys and felt like he was witnessing something secret. 

“How was your day with Rose?” Arthur asked. 

“Intense.” Alfred muttered. Arthur laughed. 

“She can be a lot to handle, that’s for sure.” Arthur muttered, fingers still flying across the keys. “At least tell me she wasn’t a gossip. She knows far too much about me to be trusted.”

“She didn’t say much.” Alfred murmured, unable to take his eyes off of Arthur’s hands. “Just some stuff about, um, your time at Uni, I guess.” The fingers stopped abruptly. 

“Oh.” Arthur exhaled. A pause fell heavy in the room. 

“Nothing bad!” Alfred hurried to say. “Just, some stuff about magazines, I mean,” he blanched, realizing he was digging himself into a deeper hole. Arthur just nodded, and after a moment, resumed playing.

“I was a foolish child then.” Arthur said after a moment, voice tipped with bitterness. 

“I don’t think you were,” Alfred ventured, “I just think…well, I just think you were being a person, when everything though you were just going to always act like a Prince.” Arthur looked at him, green eyes wide. “You don’t always have to be what other people think you should be.” Alfred finished, unable to look away from the boy next to him. Arthur nodded, and when he turned back to face the keys, Alfred could see the tips of his ears had gone pink. 

“She asked me a lot of questions, too.” Alfred began again, voice quiet. He felt like if he talked too loudly, he might disturb something he wasn’t aware of yet. “I think at one point my shoe size came up.” Arthur laughed at this, shoving Alfred slightly with his slim shoulder. Alfred chuckled too, happy for the relaxed atmosphere. “You play well.” He remarked after a moment. 

“I’ve been taking lessons since I was a child.” Arthur explained. He was playing some elaborate classic piece Alfred know his mother would’ve recognized immediately. “It’s one of the few activities a child can pursue that is royal family approved, the others being horse back riding, football and fencing.”

“So, you chose piano?” Alfred asked. 

“Please, I can do all four.” Arthur smirked. Now, it was Alfred’s turn to shove Arthur. He had misjudged his force, apparently, since it looked as if Arthur might tumble off the bench. Before he could, however, Alfred had looped an arm around his waist, and pulled him back firmly against his side. 

“Sorry.” Alfred murmured, Arthur’s face entirely too close to his own.

“It’s quite alright.” Arthur replied, his voice a bit shaky. Alfred’s eyes desperately searched the room for a distraction. They landed on the back window, which gave him a view of the back terrace. 

“You have a grill!” Alfred exclaimed, letting go of Arthur’s waist and rushing towards the window.

“What?” Arthur asked, sounding a bit winded. 

“A grill!” Alfred pointed out at it exuberantly. Arthur stood, joining him at the back window.

“Yes,” Arthur looked at it like it may attack him, “I suppose we do.”

“Holy shit, you have a grill!” Alfred beamed. Arthur raised an eyebrow. 

“And why is this such important news?” He asked. 

“Dude, I am the best at grilling stuff, I swear.” Alfred buzzed with excitement. “Can I use it?”

“Sure, though you might be the first to do so in a number of years.” Arthur gave him a bemused grin. 

“Yes!” Alfred pumped his fist in the air, immediately dashing out of the drawing room. 

When it came to getting supplied, the kitchen staff were happy to accommodate (and even happier to get the night off). Once everything was rounded up, Alfred and Arthur had ventured out onto the back terrace, where it took Alfred a few tries to actually light the beast of a grill the Clarence House had. 

“This thing is ancient.” Alfred remarked, after he finally got it to light.

“Well, believe it or not, we don’t have much cause for grilling here.”

“Thank God I’m here, then.” Alfred grinned at him. Arthur rolled his eyes, but when Alfred had offered to make the family dinner, he had accepted the offer. 

That’s how Alfred ended up cooking burgers for the royal family of England. Damn good burgers at that. 

Arthur, despite being upset with the prospect of eating outside, had still eaten a burger, mostly due to Alfred’s insisting. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to eat it with a knife and fork.” Rose pointed out. Arthur glared at her. 

“These are remarkable, Alfred!” Prince Henry exclaimed, sitting in a dining room chair Alfred had dragged out to the terrace. 

“I aim to please.” He grinned. For the first time since he arrived, Alfred felt entirely comfortable at Clarence House. Something about the smell of the grill, the warmth of the spring nights and the way Arthur smiled at him made him feel right at home. 


End file.
